Unmasked
by toLockAHeart
Summary: She was just a woman who happened to meet the darkest part of him and still believe in him. The fact that he never did wasn't important. And she was just a girl who wished to be free. Joining a team of superheros wasn't on the list. They're just two ladies, except for the fact that they're not. Who else would be part of the Avengers but an ex-Hydra agent and a descendant of Loki?
1. We Are All Lost Souls

**_ANNOUNCEMENT_ :**

I am very sorry to announce that Unmasked is being discontinued. Please don't mistake this for abandoned, since I have no intention of leaving my Survivor!Verse alone. It's just that as I continue writing this story, I am unsatisfied. I do not feel as if I am producing my best work and while they have not abandoned it, I'm sad to say most my drunnies have fled, leaving me with little inspiration. I have tried to continue writing chapters and while I am already done with a few, and have dabbled with some future chapters, none of it is really striking me. I've been toying with some one-shots that I'm feeling more confident about, so I have a feeling that's what might happen. I might just do some general one-shots and then have Survivor!Verse one-shots, of just focus on Survivor!Verse, I don't know. I do deeply apologize and am sorry to all those who were anxiously awaiting the next installment. I'm considering doing an abstract piece on Kota and Bucky's relationship however, so hopefully that might come out soon. If there was something you wanted to see, now's a good time for requests.

Regretfully sorry,

~Dumort

 **Many Greetings! Welcome to my first foray into the Captain America fandom, and as of October, now has a revamped, pretty prologue. So, hurray for that! Yes, this does start off as a Winter Soldier with a companion fic, but perhaps not like you're used to... When I write the Winter Soldier, he won't be the guy who's somehow clinging to his humanity or his memory of the past. Why? Because he's a brainwashed Hydra agent. He doesn't have humanity. Now if you want to wrap Bucky Barnes, ex-Hydra assassin in a warm blanket and hiss at Tony Stark for hurting him, be my guest. But when I write the Winter Soldier, he's going to be a ruthless murderer who has no conscience. Never fear though! We'll get to see the new Bucky, changed by all the crimes he's committed, old Bucky, mostly carefree if the war hasn't gotten to him, and the Winter Soldier, someone whose actions are only justifiable in that he had no choice in whether or not he committed them. And maybe we'll get to meet the other Avengers. Just kidding! They show up in the third chapter (somewhat).**

 **Please stick around with me for this ride, because as of right now, I only know where I want to end up, not how to get there (it's all about the journey, am I right?)**

 **See that box at the bottom of the page? I love all reviews.**

 **And next time: actual plot, with real characters. Yippee! (But save the firecrackers for tomorrow.)**

 **UPDATE AS OF 10/10/16** **: So instead of the poems that originally began this fic, there's now real content in this prologue! Huzzah! If you read it real carefully you can probably guess how shit's going down but if you do, please don't spoil it. I may surprise someone out there yet.**

 **Disclaimer: If this were mine, I wouldn't have to put a disclaimer. Only Dakota Yuma Pondelik "The Sable Tiger" and Wren Jordan Caldwell "Rune" can be claimed as mine. (And I guess now I can claim Evelyn and Serenity.)**

"Fortune does not change men;

it unmasks them."

~Suzanne Necker

* * *

There was a finality to the set of his shoulders. A tense resignation that came from years of denial and discord. But there was still a reluctant acceptance. One that a simple glance would ascertain the wear it placed upon him.

From behind none of the emptiness and dismal depth could be seen in his emotionless eyes. The hard frown and locked jaw was hidden. From behind, he was just a man who had come to a grim acknowledgment.

A creak made him turn toward a set of doors and now the tension of combat overcame him. He hesitated a second before deciding to speak.

"Who is it?" His voice was rough. It was most likely from disuse since the man didn't look to be much older than his forties.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing?" Another man opened the doors to the balcony and stepped out before quietly shutting them behind him. The new man was a stark contrast with the other. Crowfeet and vibrant blue eyes, this man radiated peacefulness and ease.

"I'm fine Steve." The first man answered with clipped tones and was obviously aggravated by the newcomer.

Steve held up his hand in surrender, a small grin sliding onto his face. "I thought we got over the mission issues?"

The first man rolled his eyes and the tension in his shoulders eased.

Steve gave a small frown and rubbed a hand on his neck. "Hey, Bucky…I…well…"

The first man, Bucky, pointedly ignored the stuttering.

"You know that I only want to best for you?" Steve searched Bucky's face for some answer. The disappointment in his eyes revealed he didn't find it.

"I don't think I want to hear the rest of this." Bucky was now talking in a vicious growl, a new tension in his body that threatened more than just violence.

"Bucky, it's just that…I, I mean we, don't think it's healthy for you to…"

"Mourn?" Bucky turned around so fast that Steve jumped back a step, his hands beginning to raise in a defensive gesture.

An indignant look crossed Steve's face. "You know that's not what I mean."

Bucky scoffed but the harsh glint in his eyes persisted.

"It's been nearly ten years. Don't you think she'd want…"

"Don't you dare finish that!" Bucky's fist clenched. "You don't know anything about what she'd want."

"I think I knew her well enough to say she wouldn't want you to destroy yourself. She wouldn't want you to be alone," Steve implored.

Bucky didn't answer. He clenched his jaw and refused to meet Steve's eyes.

A few seconds passed before Steve sighed. "Fine, stay out here. But the rest of us are going to watch the ceremony. Wren said that they were going to reveal some plans tonight she though you might like. Join us if you want." Steve paused at the door but ultimately went inside.

Eventually Bucky went back and rested his elbows on the balcony rail.

When the door creaked again Bucky snarled and prepared to snap something at Steve when he noticed who was at the door.

Silky black hair and almond eyes.

"Steve looked a little disgruntled when he came inside. Figured I should go 'tame the beast.'" She finished the sentence with a laugh, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. The young woman moved to the balcony and perched herself on the ledge.

"I didn't know you'd be coming," Bucky spoke to the women in hesitant tones.

The woman shrugged. "Sharon called me up and I couldn't say no to my godmother."

Bucky nodded but seemed distracted. Every few seconds he would glance over to the woman, almost as if to assure himself she was safe.

"But what is this I hear of you wanting to move back to Romania? Is Wyoming no longer good enough for you?"

"Evie," Bucky began.

Evelyn raised her eyebrows. "I thought we agreed you wouldn't call me that anymore?"

Bucky gave a parental glare. "Evelyn. If I want to move to Romania, it's my decision."

"But…"

"No! I'm giving you and your sister the farm to do with as you please, but by the end of the month I'm going."

Evelyn's lip quivered and her eyes dampened. "You promised you wouldn't leave till I was done with my training."

Bucky froze. His gaze settled on the horizon and he willed his body to still.

"You said that until I became an Avenger you would help me prepare. And what about Serenity? Are you just going to abandon her? She's only eleven!"

"Enough! You're only seventeen, you can't possibly understand…"

"I lost her too!" Evelyn stood up to face Bucky with tears streaming down her face. "You aren't the only one who misses her. But you don't see Clint, or Nat, or Steve running away. They stayed. They looked after us. They've been more a family to me than you have. If you're going to run, then fine, just go. But don't expect me to come running. I'm not her." Angrily, she wiped her tears and stormed back inside.

Bucky was frozen for a few seconds until a few tears began to slide down his cheeks. He absently wiped them away before turning back around.

 _Maybe they're right. But that doesn't mean I can stay._

It was true. No matter how much it tore him up to see Evelyn in so much pain, he couldn't stay. Not where everything constantly reminded him of what he lost. What was taken from him when he thought that nothing could ever be taken without his permission again.

If he left he didn't know what would happen. Maybe he could find peace, maybe he never would.

But he knew what would happen if he stayed, and he couldn't do that. Because he knew what she wanted.

Bucky sighed. "When did everything go so wrong?"

* * *

 **A/N:** So, I decided that I wanted to add some content to this prologue…Yep. If you still want to read the poems or want to know what this prologue used to look like, have no fear! I simply moved them to the end of the chapter, after this note. So go on down there silly and take a peak. The drunnies were really proud of them so I think they're a little miffed they're no longer a centerpiece.

* * *

"To Be a Compass"

It should be frightening,

How easy it is to lay blame.

To rage fierce like lightning,

Triumphantly bringing about shame.

But who's to know the real truth?

Who has the right to decide?

Maybe we just need to soothe,

Forget all the truth in a lie.

Wouldn't it just be more peaceful,

To forget all that drives up apart?

Maybe we just need to be heedful,

Hearts are easily lost in this art.

We're all lost souls searching for justice,

It should be acceptable to become someone's compass.

"Lost Souls"

We're all lost souls

In need of truth,

Believing we can fly.

Struggling to fill a hole,

Find a way to soothe

Even if it is in a lie.

Hearts are easily broken,

Tears are easily dried.

Souls take long to be awoken,

It's from pain they're trying to hide.

Battered in need,

Carelessly beaten,

Somehow forgotten.

They want to feed,

Find a way to sweeten,

All that's turned rotten.

Because what some consider evil

Is a struggle to be good.

It just takes certain kinds of people

To see what no one else could.

* * *

Coming up next: Placed under the harsh care of Hydra members, The Sable Tiger begins her training and struggles to prove herself as an Asset.


	2. I'm the Hunter

**I'm back! How did you guys like that last chapter? Well, poem/preface really.**

 **Just like I promised: real plot! With actual characters and not abstract thoughts! (If you want to light those firecrackers, now is appropriate).**

 **Thank you not only to those who favorited, followed, and reviewed (which I am eternally, everlastingly grateful and humbled by) but also to anyone who took a chance on my strange story and read the first chapter. It may seem quirky, but when I checked my story's traffic stats and say that over two dozen people had even _viewed_ my story, I did a little internal dance. (Have to celebrate all your achievements in life.) **

**In concern with _this_ chapter though, you're definitely going to get a taste at some darker stuff. Of course, anything dealing with Hydra is dark, so what am I saying? Also take note, anything written like: " _Words here._ " is supposed to be spoken in Russian, but instead of putting Russian there and either making you frustrated and guess at a translation or having to put a translation at the bottom, I simply cut out the middle man and let you know exactly what they're saying.  
**

 **Chapter title is a reference to _Hunter_ by 30 Seconds to Mars.**

 **Please review and see you on the flip side!**

* * *

The first one was the hardest. Sticky juices clinging to your skin; your fingers all but glued together. Sightless eyes seared into your skull.

She disappeared for an hour, hiding behind a bathroom door while she emptied all the contents of her stomach. When nothing else came up, bile rose in her throat. Whimpering, she rested her head on the cold porcelain, hoping that something might cool her raging heart.

They pounded on the door and a sharp bark of: "Enough! Come here!" made her scramble to unsteady feet. She washed off as much blood as she could and rinsed her mouth out. Shivering, she unlocked the door and stumbled back into line. Looking to either side, others were as visibly shaken as her, a few more so. Then there were the handful who only showed lazy indifference. She hated them. Even more than the ruthless trainers who pushed them each day to their straining point. At least they had a reason for their actions. Those peers however, did not.

A voice rose, calling out names.

The ones who hadn't managed to end a life. They were led away, toward a black door only guards came out of.

She took a deep breath and counted in her head.

Fifty at the start.

Now there was thirteen.

It had only taken two weeks.

* * *

The first time she woke up in the compound, she hadn't been scared. It turned out it being quiet and shoving the scream down was smart. The few who did were silenced quickly. Instead she waited. Tensed and nervous. Within ten minutes her door opened, she was roughly pushed into the hallway, and met the man who was the chief architect of her new situation. Ten minutes after that they were running around a track being told that to succeed was to survive. No one needed to be told what failure was. They just had to look to the side of the track.

* * *

A month into testing twelve students remained. This irritated the instructors, so they proceeded with a new test. One that would decide which student would receive the final serum.

"You'll be given a personal trainer who you will work with for six months. If they have any reason to believe you have failed…" She let the end hang.

Crimson, they were supposed to call her. Third in charge of their training, she as the only one who gave them information on their trials. "One of you will be given the privilege of training directly under an active asset, including during fieldwork."

It might have sounded like a privilege, but everyone knew it was just an easy way to cut someone else.

An asset?

Cold, uncaring beings whose only goal was to fulfill their mission. No thought would be spared before ending any obstruction. They had something to do, nothing would impair them.

She prayed she wasn't chosen.

* * *

It was their genes.

The only reason they were being tested and trained. Their genes held a certain chain that allowed the serum to take hold easily and permanently. Everyone knew they were being drugged. The changes were emerging gradually. She realized it was in the water. Why else would their instructors have drinks brought to them?

* * *

She struggled to reign in her breathing. He was relentless.

Her body was bruised. She was aching in places she didn't know she could. He never spared her a second glance. Never showed his approval. He must never disapprove, otherwise she would be dead.

The only words he uttered were succinct guttural orders in perfect Russian. Before, she was only passably fluent; now she spoke with near proficiency

Tonight they were sitting on a rooftop, overlooking a square she couldn't have identified even if she wanted to. She wasn't familiar with the language and was reliant on her trainer for everything. Not that it mattered much. They had arrived five hours ago and spent four of those hours on the rooftop, waiting for the darkness to descend and his target to arrive.

Not her target. Her job was to aid and watch. To learn from him. Maybe redeem herself from her first failure.

Three months after he chose her and already she could feel the affects of his training. She was stronger, faster, more durable. She was also more ruthless.

Maybe it was constantly watching him deal with targets, both real and pretend, with a calculated detachment that froze her. Or maybe it was the instruction; him pushing her so far that she had little time to reflect on her actions, and finding that she was too focused on other things to bother worrying over her conscious. Let her bridges burn. There were too many rivers to cross for her to concern herself with all of them.

" _Fuck_ ," he softly swore.

She nearly jumped. He never cursed, never showed his feelings. He was too focused on his goals to do things like that.

" _What?_ " she questioned

His head tilted slightly toward her. " _The target is coming from the west._ " She paled. They were facing northeast, where all the intelligence indicated the target would come from. " _Set up._ "

She gaped for a second before pushing herself away from him and grabbing her own rifle. It was standard HYDRA issue with nothing to make it hers. In fact, there was no guarantee she'd even used this weapon before. The only people allowed to choose and retain their weaponry were active assets. Which she wasn't.

Nimbly sliding to the ground, she took aim as swiftly as she could. A crunch sounded behind her but she was centered on the one road that led from the city into the courtyard from the west. She counted her breaths and waited.

There.

A single car drove, speeding past all the signs. It should have been difficult to take aim and shoot but it was far too easy to find the driver, aim through her scope, and release the bullet like a viper seizing its prey with its fangs. She waited until the car started to flip before she stood up. Turning to the right she was surprised to see her mentor standing on the roof's edge, a single pistol in his hand.

" _Meet me downstairs._ " He jumped off, a flash as silver caught the moonlight.

She packed up both their guns before rushing down onto the street, just in time to see him pull a middle-aged woman from the backseat and shoot her point-blank in the head.

It was a grisly sight and a few months ago it would have made her queasy. Now, she just blinked.

* * *

Everyone else who made it through the last round of fights stayed in the compound to complete their training. Nine students would be doing their best under reasonable instructors to complete the tests.

Not her. No, she was being sent to some forsaken pit just inside the Russian border for her first couple months of training. After that she would join the asset in the field.

It shocked her when one of the doctors joined her. Until one week into the training and she was shoved into a room to receive an injection in her neck.

Before they had been secretive about any drugs the students were ingesting. Now that there were so few of them left it was reasonable that they would be openly receiving the pre-serum.

She didn't know what chemicals were being introduced into her veins. She just knew that they were working.

Why else was killing someone becoming easier?

* * *

" _It's time to return._ " She stared at him from her seat. Crossed-leg, she was cleaning one of her guns, barely paying attention. Her bicep was bandaged from where a knife grazed her and her ankle was still a little sore from a poorly executed landing. Had the serum not given her semi-advanced healing she would be on the side of the road right now, a bullet through her chest.

" _When will we arrive?_ " She didn't question why or when it was decided. She was meant to follow and obey her superiors, just like he did. To obey was her single purpose. It was the only reason she was still alive and the only reason she would remain so.

" _Two hours._ " That was all he said. He put his knife back into its sheath. Standing up, he walked to the other side of the plane to speak with their handler. Most likely about her failure. She blushed.

It may seem strange to have developed an attachment to someone who abused her on a daily basis, but having spent six months in close quarters with the man, constantly watching and imitating him, to her it was only logical that she felt a certain loyalty and obedience.

Placing her gun to the side she stretched. She curled up on the seat and watched her mentor for a minutes. Her eyes shut before he returned to his seat.

* * *

Returning to the compound should have felt as if it was a homecoming. Instead it felt like she was walking into another mission.

* * *

A camaraderie existed between the remaining five students who trained in the compound. Shared strife and glory. It was too easy to dismantle them and devise how best to defeat them.

She won within twenty minutes.

The blood on her hands was a nuisance.

* * *

Coming up next: The Sable Tiger awakens from cryo alone and betrayed.


	3. You Won't Know

**HELP WANTED: Anyone good with Russian? I have a few phrases in this chapter I'm pretty sure I used right, but just in case I need to bust out a few Russian curses and such in the future, please shoot me a PM if you want to help.**

 **But, the story... How are you guys liking it? Fun? Not fun? Traumatizing? Alluring? I'll only know if you review!**

 **Well, we've finally caught up with semi-present day (does CA:TWS count?) Won't be long till we're at Civil War stuff though, so just stick with me for two more chapters and we'll get into the nitty-gritty of all that fun jazz.**

 **Don't forget to leave a reviews (it keeps the drunnies satisfied). See on the flip side Cheerios.**

* * *

Waking up felt as if a bucket of biting ice had been dumped on her body. She gasped, shaking and disoriented. Her mind seemed certain that someone should be speaking, but no voice reached out to anchor her.

 _It should be rough, disused and with a hint of uncertainty. Only I would notice it_ , she thought.

"Asset Two Containment Opening." This was not the voice she needed to hear. Even so, it aided her all the same.

Sable Tiger. The name was thrown to the forefront and she _knew_ it was important.

 _Put the Sable Tiger back!_

The harsh command gave her pause. _Who was that?_

Pierce.

Another name, this time with a face. Followed by wariness and hostility.

He took _him_ away from me. мой солдат. This thought came unbidden but Sable clung to it. She dug, rooting back to its source. With another gasp she fumbled her hands, reaching up to cradle her head as a headache began to pound in her head. Images surfaced. Crouching on the roof, watching a shield fly. Her knife whirling as she fought a man. Snarling as they tried to haul her away, yet all she wanted was to grab his metal arm. Cold ice burning her veins as she froze, still screaming.

Ah, screaming. That's why it hurt when she awoke. Hazily, she could remember screaming the first few times she was placed in cryo. Then there was the silence. It was followed by the confusion. Brains weren't meant to be repeatedly frozen and thawed. Each time caused the brain to become slower to snap to awareness.

Hence the word, she realized. It was her activation word, meant to snap her brain back into focus as quickly as possible. Without it might take a couple, even a few, days to regain full consciousness. Until then...

Sable carefully felt around the chamber. Finding the frame she gently pulled herself up. Her foot brushed the ground before planting itself firmly. Her eyes remained shut and kneeling; she crawled on the ground using her hands to feel around her. Had it been anyone else they might have found it humiliating, but she just found it tedious. When her hands finally hit solid metal she allowed herself a small smile. Following the wall she eventually ended up at a corner which she curled herself against tightly, her back to the wall.

She waited in silence, only part of her anxious for her senses to return. The rest was waiting for something else. Well, _someone_ else.

* * *

It took sixty-seven hours for every one of her senses to return. Sixty-seven hours of sorting through memories and gritting her teeth as she endured roaring migraines. Sixty-seven hours, and now she was prepared.

Sable shot to her feet, landing with a fluidity that took year of repetition. She brushed her black hair back, braiding it as she crept through the hallways. Sixty-seven hours should have been enough time for a few HYDRA guards to find her and lock her back up. She was certain that she wasn't meant to be released, especially since no flock of scientists had been there to greet her. Poking and prodding as she came back to herself. But there had been no scientists, no needles, and _no soldier_.

It was the last point that she was most concerned over. Where was he? мой солдат. It should have been him whispering in her ear.

кнут.

She would have opened her eyes in an instant. Her mind clearing away the fog as she turned to him. A soldier would be standing at either shoulder, a firm hold on his arms. The instant her eyes saw him the guards would step back and she would approach.

мой солдат, she would whisper, taking his hands and leading him to the chair. His eyes would have been slightly cloudy, still not completely aware. Then he would be wiped. His brain scrambled in order to make the Winter Soldier programming as permanent and lasting as possible. When he stood up, he would be cold and unemotional. A deadly predator.

He wasn't there though, and this base was abandoned. Not even a desk worker.

Sable frowned but she moved toward the room she needed. Using her hands she pried the lock off the door and pushed it open. Scanning the safe, she was both relieved and disappointed. All of the her belongings were there, the Winter Soldier's were not. As fast she she could she pulled on jeans and a t-shirt followed by her knee-length coat. She armed herself with her assortment of knives, managed to tuck a away a gun, and wrapped her favorite whip around her as a belt. The rest of her weapons and uniform she stuffed in a duffle bag. She only had two plainclothes outfits, one which she was currently wearing. It wasn't as if she spent a quantity of time outside and if she did it was for a mission, meaning a set attire. She never got to keep those clothes though.

Creeping back through the base, she let one of her knives rest in her hand. She made it all the way to the back door with no interruption. Sable hesitated at the door, only for a second. She forcibly shouldered the door open. A sharp gush of air rushed at her. Sable opened her mouth, soaking in the scents.

There was a faint smell of sweat, so faded now that it must have been a couple days since anyone came by this door. A faint heat emanated, indicating a crowd of people nearby. _Opposite side of the building_ , she noted. There was the smell of iron, metals and the rot of old garbage. The city was still on the move, but she felt motionless.

She shouldn't be stepping forward, exiting the base and entering the city. Not without authorization. Not without a mission. Not without him. The most important: not without him. Her dedication to him exceeded all else and _escaping without him_ made her uneasy. She had gone on a handful of solo mission, but four out of five times she was working with him.

Sable took her first step out of the building and paused. She pursed her lips, glanced around once, then hurried away from the door. The alley was narrow and she moved through it with caution. A quite scrape caused her to tense until she realized it was only a rat. She sighed.

 _My training has made me jumpy_ , she smirked internally. The entrance to the alley loomed ahead and she surged through it.

The street was busy; cars speeding along the road and people hurrying on the street. Sable ducked in between a group of people and adopted a calm, meandering gait. Her training took over and instinctively she took note of the people around her in order to fit it.

She was approaching an intersection when she heard it.

"...that's all we've been told about the crashes so far," a smooth masculine voice said.

"And no one, as of now, has claimed responsibility for these acts?" a higher feminine voice asked.

The male voice responded. "While no one has claimed responsibility, sources from inside SHIELD say that a group known as HYDRA is responsible, chiefly an assassin under the name of the Winter Soldier."

Sable felt her heart plummet. Now he was wanted.

She backtracked and located the window that was displaying the television playing the current news. Sure enough, in the right hand corner of the screen a sharply-dressed woman was listening, occasionally nodding her head as the man centered on the television pointed behind him. The backdrop was ruins; a burnt building and a river with the remains of planes she vaguely recalled being called helicarriers scattered in it. It seemed as if clean-up efforts were already underway.

"New information is becoming harder to get, SHIELD is being very quiet on this one, but we have managed to gain access to this video. Viewers should be warned, this video may be disturbing to some audiences."

The screen changed as a granulated video of an airfield began to play. Sable recognized the Winter Soldier immediately. There was no disguising the languid, confident air with which he walked. He strutted onto the airfield and began to take apart the SHIELD response team as if it were child's play. Part of her grinned at the sight of his power but she knew that if videos like this were starting to circulate it would be almost impossible for the Winter Soldier to hide as long as he needed.

"The current status of the Winter Soldier is still unknown but it is confirmed that Captain America was located and is currently in the hospital, in stable condition."

As the newscasters continued to discuss the effects of the attack at the SHIELD headquarters, Sable moved away and continued to follow the sidewalk.

 _It said the attack was three days ago_ , she realized as she recalled the information the news banner had been displaying. _That explains my release_. Sable wasn't quite sure whether to be relieved or irritated. No doubt someone had accessed the bases programs and attempted to terminate her in order to keep as much information about Hydra as possible a secret. The fool must have _opened_ her cryotube instead. Nevertheless, she wasn't about to waste this small blessing.

Seventy hours ago Hydra failed in its effort to take over the world. Again, she noted with spite. Based on the information she just gained it would take forced cooperation of SHIELD for any intelligence on her to be released. Not that she was going to wait till then. SHIELD's silence was giving her the head start that she needed. She could escape the city and disappear into hiding. With her guns and a standard-issue Hydra bag used when someone needed to lay low, she should be able to last for a few months. Hopefully, that would be all the time she needed.

Her head was already sorting through variables, constructing scenarios, and weighing her options. She couldn't remain in the open, that was blatantly clear. But Sable knew that if she even held a hope for the Winter Soldier finding her, she had to be sure to not vanish completely. It was a tricky balance that she thought through by the time she reached a rental car building.

She smiled at the man working the desk and gave him her fake information. The gangly youth accepted it and not twenty minutes later she was tearing down the interstate, heading toward the country.

 _If I were the Winter Soldier, where would I go?_ It was a question she wasn't entirely sure how to answer but she did know one thing.

She wasn't the Winter Soldier. That meant she still had time before she became a wanted woman.

The Sable Tiger grinned. Yes, she was going to get back мой солдат.

* * *

Coming up next: Wren Caldwell receives a history lesson.


	4. Come on Loki!

**So sorry for the late update. This week was crazy with preparing for finals, and I had to help my mom with my dad's retirement ceremony. But at last: here is chapter three! I think I'll be moving updates to Friday (at least for now) simply because this summer is shaping up to be pretty hectic. If I happen to knock out a few chapters in the next few weeks I may move updates back to Wednesday, but who knows?**

 **Please leave a review! Seriously, this isn't me just wanting a lot of reviews. More of me asking for constructive criticism. I can write all day long but if I don't know what I'm doing wrong or what you guys really like, I'm not doing anything but writing for myself. So please, give me your thoughts!**

 **Chapter title is reference to how in true Norse mythology, Loki has some serious problems with his children's species (such as giving birth to Odin's eight-legged horse Sleipnir. Yep, a horse. Come on Loki!)**

* * *

It was pretty easy to be a high school senior. In Wren Caldwell's experience being a senior simply meant having more freedom and becoming one step closer to getting out of the hellhole people liked to refer to as _public education_. It wasn't that the teaching was bad or just generally infuriating administrators. No, it was mostly due to the fact that in Wren's twelve years of school education she had come to a single conclusion: students were annoying. While there were the few shining gems of maturity and wisdom, too many of her classmates looked down on her for being borderline obsessed with mythology and preferring to spend her Saturdays curled up on the couch watching a classic rather than partying. Not that she was ever invited to parties. Wren Caldwell simply liked her solitude. And she was completely satisfied with her aloof nature being the strangest thing about her.

Then she had to wake up screaming in the middle of the night, her veins feeling like they were being burned with ice. Her mother and father barged into the room looking panicked. While her dad had dove for the phone her mother just gave a sorrowful smile and sat on her bed, placing a cool hand on her brow.

"Dear, put the phone back," her mother said in a calm voice. Alyssa Caldwell was an exceptional woman who had never raised her voice in her life. Not that she'd ever needed to.

"Wren is in pain and you don't want me to call 911?" her father looked on the edge of hysteria, his glasses skewed on his head.

"The doctors at a hospital can't help her." Alyssa turned back to face Wren who was gaping at her mother in shock. While Wren's mother was never a huge fan of hospitals, she had also never let the health of her children come after anything.

"Alyssa, what is wrong with you?" her father's voice started to rise, anger sparking in his eyes.

"Wren's magic is emerging!" It was probably the discomfort at having her husband yell at her. It was the only conclusion Wren could come to that explained why her mother, tight-lipped and eternally peaceful, would have snapped something to her father like _that_.

"Magic?" her father stuttered out.

Alyssa turned to him and hummed. "Magic."

Wren's head was still hurting too much for her to understand what was happening, but she did recognize her father's strangled gasp and the fact that out of nowhere a cold rag was draped over her forehead.

The rest of the conversation that night was lost to her, but the one the following morning was seared into her brain.

It isn't every day your mother sits you down and tells you that your descended from a long line of witches. And not any witches mind you, but ones who get their magic from a spell. Performed by Loki. On your very great Norwegian grandmother. Who had a one-night stand with the god of mischief. It was a thank-you gift.

Wren right-out called her mother nuts, at least until Alyssa pulled out a blanket and shifted its pattern before Wren's eyes. After that Wren paced around the living room and did her best to not only point out every flaw in her mother's logic but why any of this could _possibly_ be happening. The one she was suspecting was drugs. Why did it always have to be drugs?

"Why don't we look like them?" Alyssa's voice cut through Wren's thoughts and made her pause.

Why did she look different? It had always been a point of embarrassment that despite having two darker-skinned brothers, she was porcelain white. Receiving compliments on her flawless skin might have been appealing, if people didn't immediately after ask about her _half-brothers_. But they weren't. They all had the same mother, same father. It was just her pale skin instantly made people think she didn't belong to her family. Except for her relationship to her mother. Both of them had clear white skin, wavy hair of the darkest black color, and vivid green eyes. No one would ever doubt their relation.

"Why doesn't your Abuela look like her brothers? Or her mother to her brother? Why is that every picture you see of women from my side of the family, we all look alike?" Wren tried to come up with an argument, but her mother's logic was sound. They did all have the same pale skin, dark hair, and piercing eyes.

Wren hesitated. "Why do we then?"

"It's because we have magic," Alyssa pushed.

Wren didn't want to hear it, but she agreed to nevertheless. That was how she ended up spending her Saturday learning about how her ancestor opened her door to Loki, a Norse god, and the next morning having him reveal himself. (It was turning too much into some story from mythology for Wren's comfort, but she listened anyway). Apparently gratified by her kindness, Loki placed a spell on her. That every female descendant she had with his blood in their veins would hold some of the power he possessed. Wren had to bite her tongue to point out all the possible inaccuracies with that, though she settled down when Alyssa explained that the story was the same one her mother told her. If something was left out or untrue, it'd been so long that no one alive would know. Yet one fact remained the same: After that, one daughter had been born to each female heir of the Norwegian woman. One daughter, with black hair and green eyes who could use magic.

Wren didn't want to believe it but less than twenty hours later she was greeting her great-grandmother. A wizened old Norwegian woman whose eyes had yet to lose their sharpness. Two weeks after that Wren performed magic for the first time.

Right as the source for her magic blasted a hole through New York.

Wren was shocked but after a quick consultation all of the witches alive agreed: Wren's magic had been awoken because of Loki's presence, otherwise it would have waited till her eighteenth birthday to surface.

That fact just made Wren feel cheated. She should have had three more months before her life completely twisted off it's axis. She was cheated from _three freaking months_. Of course, there was also the plus side.

Alyssa Caldwell's magic had been fading, useful for little more than minor spells and something her Mormor, what her great-grandmother politely (briskly) asked Wren to call her, said was hearth magic.

"Simple spells," Mormor said, each word coming out with the distinct pronunciation non-native speakers gave when trying to speak a foreign language correctly. "Used to help around the home. It makes a house a warm place."

It took two lessons for Wren's specialty to be revealed, and it's power.

"It must be caused by Loki's presence," Mormor explained to Alyssa and Wren over a cup of coffee. Specifically, Norwegian coffee. "Him catalyzing the emergence of your magic undoubtedly caused it to grow in power. The fact that your affinity is battle magic may be potentially linked as well."

Wren was surprised when Alyssa asked if she wanted to go with Mormor and learn magic in the best environment she could. She could learn from her Abuela if she wanted, but the best source of information on their family's magic and the ideal location to learn it was Norway. A few phone calls and a month later, Wren was landing in an unfamiliar country, ready to learn magic.

Considering the amount of hatred toward Loki, Wren should have been more prepared for an Avenger to bust into her house and take her hostage.

Six months after her initial journey to Norway and during a brief respite in her training, Wren was caught off guard by her door being torn open by Captain America and a team of four soldiers, who she later learned were SHIELD operatives.

"Merry Christmas?" she muttered from her seat on the couch as the confused Captain tried to comprehend why the energy scanner he had been using to locate any last remains of Loki's magic somehow brought him to the home of a relatively normal suburban family.

Then someone accidentally sparked a plug and Wren's hands flared purple as her magic surged.

Following was a very long explanation about the fact that Wren possessed some magic, gifted to her family by Loki, but she had no intention of using it in any manner except to protect her family.

Her explanation must have been suitable enough because Captain America nodded then politely asked to speak to Wren's parents in private.

A few hours later Wren was being offered a chance to work with, not necessarily _become_ an Avenger, on the condition that she finished her training and would only be allowed to work with the public if she proved she wasn't a danger to society.

How could she say no?

Less than six months later and she turned on the news to find out SHIELD had been destroyed by some psycho WWII-era organization.

Seven months after that, Sokovia fell.

Nine months passed: she finished her training.

One month following, she was asked to join the Avengers.

"On one condition," Wren said, grinning from ear to ear as she looked Steve Rogers in the eye.

"What's that?" he asked. The corner of his mouth was curled in what she hoped was amusement.

"I want to be called Rune."

Steve's eyebrow quirked and he glanced around, his gaze sweeping from Vision to Wanda Maximoff, flitting on James Rhodes before finally resting on Sam Wilson. When no dissension was expressed he nodded.

"Alright then. Welcome to the team...Rune."

Wren decided high school could kiss her ass.

* * *

 _"Don't you do that.  
Don't you look at what I had for you and call it weak._  
 _Not when you were the one afraid of it._  
 _I stood there with my hands open,_  
 _my mouth bruised tender with supplication._  
 _Don't you dare treat me like a victim of my own emotions,_  
 _like being moved to my knees by love_  
 _was a mistake that I regret._  
 _I will go to my grave with the memory of the bravery in my bones_."

~ Caitlyn Siehl

Coming up next: Dakota and Bucky's relationship has shifted since the fall of Hydra. 


	5. Breakin'

_"So, I suck at updates. I apologize but sadly, this is probably going to happen again because well, life. Having to graduate, move, go on two family trips and recently and out of nowhere, my/my sister's dog got really sick and had to be put down. Not to mention that while my mom and dad are at work I have to watch out for my mom's new puppy who can be a little shit, I wasn't really feeling like writing too much. But a recent Supernatural marathon coupled me with having a good laugh at a line by one of my favorite characters in the Night Angel Trilogy (a great fantasy series whose darkness and depth make it close to The Lord of the Rings in how dearly I hold it to my heart) gave me just the boost I needed to crack my fingers and finish this chapter. So hurray! This should hopefully rekindle a more regular update but they may be at week-and-a-half intervals, I don't know. It just depends on how these last weeks of summer and the first few weeks of college treat me. Hopefully the week-and-a-half will be the longest you have to wait but, I'm sorry to say I can't give any guarantees."_

 **Ha. Ha. Ha….Yeah, I wrote that some months ago and, well, it seems that not finishing the last bit of the chapter and deciding to re-write it later was a very bad idea. But now, in honor of _finally_ buying Civil War, here is the next chapter. Also, apologizes if Bucky is OOC. I reworked his parts you don't want to know how many times but there's a reason I tend to stick to writing from OC's POV. And Dakota says something that comes from _What We Buried_ , but I've changed it a little.**

For giggles, here's a conversation I had with a friend over email (after we had an intense headcannon debate):

Her: Are you okay?

Me: I'm a superwhovengmerpotteravapercylocked who likes a mean sour apple petite of Lunar Chronicles and was stupid enough to think I was just going to _try_ reading the Night Angel Trilogy and Unwind Dystology. No, I'm never alright.

Her: Point taken

 **On another note, I'm currently looking for a Beta so if you're interested shoot me a pm.**

 **And last but not least, names: the Sable Tiger = Dakota = Kota. I really like the name Dakota but it just didn't seem to flow and after I read this awesome comment about the nickname Kota I realized that it fit Dakota perfectly; plus I want her to have an aversion to the name Dakota for…reasons…that will be revealed…but not for many chapters…hehehe, I can be so cruel.**

* * *

Hold on tight

Wrap your arms around me till your knuckles are burning white

All your tears

Couldn't match the bitter taste of all these wasted years

You take take

Everything that wasn't even yours

Wait wait

You don't got a hold of me anymore

"Breakin" by All-American Rejects

* * *

Dakota remembered everything.

One of the numerous side-effects of a serum coursing through your veins intended to enhance every cell in your body was an eidetic memory.

So Dakota remembered everything.

If someone were to ask her the first time she saw the Winter Soldier she would state clearly and confidently it was when she walked into a training room just in time to watch him snap the neck of one of her peers.

It also meant she recalled every mission beside him, every training session they ever did, every choice she ever made for him. Including sacrificing decades of her life, rivers of blood upon her hands. Following him, obeying him, protecting him from the things he never knew he needed protection from.

Which meant she also remembered every second she spent searching for мой солдат. Her one constant in a life scoured with too little.

Too little due to Hydra.

Who happened to be the same reason Dakota should have found the Winter Soldier within the first month.

Finding assassins was something she considered herself adept at. In all her years as a Hydra agent there were numerous missions in which she was sent to take out a spy or assassin from a government agency. The mission typically concluded with little difficulty.

All of her experience didn't seem to apply to the Winter Soldier.

Spending all her time beside the man for forty years should mean there was a certain…connection. Instead, the assassin felt like she was running circles around herself in an effort to scour out any sort of lead.

In three months time she became a wanted woman by nearly everyone who was affiliated in some way with Hydra as well as a spattering of other underground organization. Dakota didn't truly mind since it only enhanced the Sable Tiger's reputation. What didn't enhance her image was how she found the Winter Soldier.

She was walking in a market located in Bucharest, wandering with no true goal in mind. There was no trail to follow and without any resources it was going to be virtually impossible to find him. Dakota was prepared to resign herself to spending the rest of her life searching and never finding. Then she turned a corner, looked up, and saw a familiar figure leaning forward to buy something. Plums.

When he turned around, his training alerting him to her boring eyes for a second she saw the shock written plainly on his face. He almost seemed ready to run until he recognized what her own eyes were saying.

He could run as long and as far as he wanted, but she would never stop following him.

So for the first time, he followed her.

Right back to a dingy one-room apartment in a debilitated part of town.

* * *

She was singing.

Her soft voice barely rising above a whisper. Enhanced hearing meant he caught every word she murmured with mournful sounds.

In the back of his mind he remembered her humming it once after a bullet tore through him, horror surging for the first time as the Winter Soldier when he believed he was breathing his last. She held onto him though, even as he shoved her away, thrashed in irrational panic; she held his head in her lap, never stopping to hush him with the soft ballad.

She sang it now with her arms wrapped around the knees she pressed to her chest as her eyes stared out into nothing.

" _Nightmare?_ " He was uncertain how to address her know. As the Winter Soldier, she had simply been an ally, a tool, whatever he needed. She never complained, voiced dissension; nothing she did implied anything but her agreement and submission. He disregarded her opinion and needs, too focused on a mission to spare her obedience any thought. Now, there was too much time to consider every interaction in the past and all the decisions he made.

" _Just a memory_ ," she whispered. A faint smile graced her face. " _Do you remember that night in France? During all of the centennial celebrations? I tricked you into climbing the Eiffel Tower so we could watch the fireworks. I liked that night._ " Dakota turned to face him. " _It was one of your better days. Didn't get so upset about us being a few minutes late to the rendezvous._ "

"I remember that." James approached to sit by her guardedly. "You took the blame for that."

"Yeah, and while I was sitting in a hospital bed, you refused to not only leave my side but let anyone but the doctors come into the room." She scooted closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

It took more effort than it should have to remain relaxed. He tried to maintain his composure while his heart was pounding, body taut, his mind racing. She was at peace with no visible signs that their past impaired her in any way. James wasn't so lucky.

Every movement she made. The tip of her head when he spoke, the way she bounced on the balls of her feet while cooking, the lithe, fluid way she walked. He was seeing it in double, half of him seeing it through eyes not controlled by Hydra while the other half could only see it through eyes that had watched it thousands of times. Sometimes a half-dozen times before he was wiped, sometimes once. James was struggling to shake himself of Hydra while Dakota was merely brushing aside the parts she didn't like; which didn't seem to be very much. Her training, her conditioning made her accept and embrace what she did and who she was. By the time they reunited Dakota was already through with what little turmoil her actions caused and was healed. James was stuck, still raw from the abuse he suffered and the horrors he was remembering. It was intense, bitter work to sort through his memories and come to terms with them. For the most part, he could deal with the assassinations and the torture. Yes, it made him queasy and strained but they were bearable. In the grand scheme of things, the nightmares every night were just retribution. But what kept him up at night, put him on edge like nothing else was the _"training;"_ the violent beatings and sadistic smiles as he was forced into the chair to be wiped. Being broke down so they could build him back up into their weapon. The fact that he sat back and watched all of that done to Dakota.

He remembered the first time he saw her. She was barely thirteen years old. Small, nervous, her amber eyes darting around in an effort to take everything in. Back then he barely spared her a glance and instead listened to his handler's orders. Which were to take the tiny girl in front on him and mold her into an asset. There was no disdain, no dissension. The Winter Soldier was ordered to do something so he did it. By the time they returned the Sable Tiger was born. An assassin almost as ruthless and merciless as him. She beat her peers with bloody and ferocious determination that their handlers commended. When they were assigned to continue working together, the Winter Soldier held no opinion. He wasn't there to have a voice, only to fulfill his missions. It was probably why he was so unnerved by the obvious emotions the Sable Tiger displayed. She made it clear that she considered her Hydra handlers as little more than advisors while she viewed him as her superior. In time, her handlers were forced to give their orders through him. He, who she listened to completely, trusted in fully, did anything for. James remembered their missions with clarity and he knew that sometimes he expected too much. Pushed when he shouldn't have. Demanded what he should have asked for. But she always agreed. Gave herself freely and completely to him without complaint. When he told her to cause a distraction by entering a nearby house, the means of distraction evident, she hid her despair and murdered the household as disruptively as she could. And when they met after the mission she smiled at him, as if to say everything was alright. The Winter Soldier didn't care or understand.

James did. James looked at those times and felt sick. It was horrific enough that he murdered and tortured and caused so much pain and terror. Not that Dakota seemed to care. She only treated him with patience and a caring that time and death never seemed to destroy.

"What are you thinking about," the English caught him off guard.

"Hydra." Wasn't everything about them now?

"Ahh, the good ole days." James turned to her only to be caught by eyes filled with mirth. "You know what I would give to go back just so I could punch a few more of those bastards in the balls?"

"You punched nearly all of your handlers in the balls." It was true. The Sable Tiger had become notorious for the assortment of techniques she employed to cause her handlers strife.

"Well, maybe I would punch a few more of yours then." She jumped up with barely a sound then glided over to the kitchen. "Midnight snack?"

James shrugged as he walked over to her. Dakota snorted and started making some dish that he didn't even know how to describe.

It seemed that this was how their life was now. The days were filled with Dakota flitting around and about, cleaning or writing, or painting. She cooked every meal and on his bad days she did everything outside of the apartment without him. James avoided her as much as he could and spent his days remembering and sorting things out and writing everything down. At night they would go to sleep at opposite side of the apartment only for one of them to be awoken by the other's nightmares. The rest of the night would be spent in near silence as Dakota cooked something and James tried not to talk about anything too serious with her. In the three weeks since he followed her to the apartment the deepest conversation they had was over their names and how their memories were doing. Since then it was only Dakota poking a few times and James responding with one word answers. Eventually she gave up and gave him space to sort through things on his own. She never told him to leave though and the one time he tried ended in a fight that she won only because he wasn't willing to hit her anymore while he doubted she would ever feel the need to pull her punches.

"Did you know, there is way to climb up to the roof?"

James watched Dakota as she licked a spoon before throwing it into the sink. She took the pan in front of her and placed it in the oven.

"No."

"This is going to take at least forty minutes to cook. What do you say to a midnight spar?"

He was slightly wondering if she could pick up on what he was thinking when she pointed at his hands.

"You've been clenching and unclenching you fists ever since you came over here. If you're feeling pent-up aggression, I'd rather use it towards training." Before he could respond she was at the window, pulling it up and climbing outside. "No need to be afraid of heights James."

If he was more relaxed; wasn't so edgy and cautious, guarded and wary as he rediscovered the world and pieced his past together again he might have laughed. At least groan at the joke and maybe even shot back one of his own. Instead he blinked, kept himself an empty canvas until Dakota sighed, rolled her eyes in a way that didn't seem humanly possible, and disappeared out of the apartment as if she was performing a magic trick. James knew she could move quickly. Her stature and body type were that of an Olympic athlete and having a serum pumping through her veins only made that natural gift that much stronger. But that didn't mean she moved that same every time. Didn't mean she sprinted as fast as she swam or jumped as fast as she ducked. There were different speeds to Dakota and none could match the way she climbed. It was irrational with no root and it was one of the many things the Hydra scientists hated about their dalliance with a serum.

They wanted her to be a killer. Hands moving with a swiftness athletes earned for as she ran down her prey like a wolf. They didn't want her to not only find every tree accessible to climb but to climb it as well. They didn't want to freak out when their asset disappeared only to find her on the roof of a staggeringly tall building, dancing on the ledge. They especially didn't want to find her wedged into nooks at the highest places in their compounds, staring down and throwing hardened crumbs of bread on their heads while she giggled like a maniac. The Russians were the most annoyed by those antics but they were also the ones who seemed to enjoy it the most. The Americans hadn't tolerated it and made sure as clearly and pointedly possible that she wasn't allowed to climb unless ordered to. That didn't stop her from sneaking away on their missions to go test her skills while he watched her impassively, half the time more concerned that he'd lose a valuable tool than about her safety.

James shouldn't have been surprised that she would find a way to climb up to the roof or that she would know so well how to get up there. He also shouldn't have been surprised when he heard the soft caw of a raven. To an enhanced ear, one could make out the subtle fluctuations that marked it as a human's vocalization and it was also the reason he knew Dakota was calling him. He walked to the window and didn't bother to look down. He started following the tracks she left him and climbed onto the roof with little difficulty.

As he hauled himself over the ledge he caught sight of Dakota practicing Tai Chi.

"Took you long enough." Dakota continued through her exercises, only turning her face enough for him to see her smile.

He shrugged and joined her.

They moved together, reflecting each other in seamless unison. The continued until Dakota slowly came to a stop and gave one last stretch.

She faced him, to flash him a grin.

"Shall we dance?"

He didn't respond as she was already sliding into a fighting stance, beginning to move in front of him as her eyes assessed his own posture.

They stayed like that, walking around each other, eyeing the other critically until James tried an experimental jab. Dakota avoided it easily and from the sour look she passed him, he knew she didn't appreciate the unenthusiastic attitude.

When she finally struck it was with a solid punch aimed at his gut which switched to a kick to his knee at the last second. James managed to block it but only due to his enhancements. As she continued her onslaught he stayed on the defense, rarely reaching out to give a light blow when she became open.

"Is this a fight or not?"

He responded by seizing her arms and forcing them away from her body so he could aim a kick at her stomach. She wrenched away with ease to retaliate by grappling him. James threw her off him and she rolled with a movement, ending in a crouch. She slowly stood.

A savage grin spread over her face. "Are you going to hit me or not?"

"No." James jerked back and ducked to the right, pivoting in order to hook her legs out from under her. Dakota flipped back, her leg jerking at just the right moment in an attempt to catch his chin. He moved quickly enough to avoid the full force of her kick but her foot still managed to whip his head back.

He leapt back a step and wiped a hand along the bottom of his chin to check for blood. A few small streak of red colored his hand. James glanced up and Dakota raised an eyebrow, a challenge lighting her eyes.

"I don't plan on holding back, James." She began pacing in front of him, a slow predatory gait as she shook out her arms with a feral smirk enveloping her face. "I know you can fight harder, so _do_ it."

"I _won't_!" he snarled at her, shaking.

"Why not?" Dakota snapped. She stopped moving and glared at him. "Why won't you fight me?"

"I can't!"

 _The Winter Soldier stood silent, watching as the handlers roughly dragged Sable out of the cell. One of the them threw her to the ground and delivered a sharp kick to her side._

 _"_ Are you prepared to operate? _" The handler yanked Sable's head up by her hair. Large, dark bruises covered her features and dried blood was caked on the right side of her face._

 _"_ You're a piece of shit, _" Sable spat a wad of blood onto the handler's face and laughed manically._

 _"_ Bitch! _" The handler moved to slap her but another one of the agents reached out and stopped him. What he whispered was too quiet to understand but the look they shot the asset was obvious. They expected the Winter Soldier to attack or at the very least make a move in Asset Two's defense. In the past, when Asset Two had fought as fiercely in order to defend the wounded Winter Soldier there was at least a small semblance of dissension; a clenching fist or narrowing eyes._

 _Now the Winter Soldier stood silent, staring dead ahead with eyes as empty as death._

 _"_ It doesn't matter, _" the first agent said, "_ the second asset disobeyed and we have orders. _"_

 _The second handler's jaw clenched but he nodded his assent. "_ Fine, but if Asset One resists, it will be on your head. _"_

 _The first agent smirked and shook his head. "_ No, he won't. _"_

 _The Winter Soldier didn't. He stood straight and ignored the screams of his partner._

 _He wouldn't disobey the handlers. He couldn't._

"мой солдат?" The voice was a soft whisper. Delicate and gentle.

James blinked and took in a ragged breath.

"James?" Dakota tip-toed over to him, her hands reaching out to cup his face. " _What's wrong?_ "

" _How many times did I stand by and watch you get beaten, tortured, abused? How many times did I do that myself?_ "

There was a pause then Dakota scoffed.

"Do you think I care?"

James swiped her hands off him. "You should!"

Dakota snarled, "Well I don't! Every choice I made, everything that happened to me, I wouldn't change for anything." James shook his head and opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off. "Don't you do that. I stood there with my hands open so don't you dare treat me like a victim of my own emotions, like being moved to my knees by love was a mistake that I regret. I will go to my grave with the memory of the bravery in my bones." (1)

"How can you be okay with anything that happened to you? Nothing they did to us was alright!" James cried out.

"No! It wasn't. It was wrong and immoral and if I could I would go back and hurt every one of them seven times worse just so they _might_ understand what we went through. But I can't and neither can you. Instead we have these memories that keep us awake and these scars that won't ever leave. I still don't care. If I had to go through all that pain just so I could be with you, be here, I would go through it all again."

James and Dakota were breathing heavy, staring straight into more than each other's eyes.

Dakota looked to her right for a second before turning back. "Do you remember how angry the handlers would get when I called you Winter Soldier?"

It was an odd question but James answered anyway. "They'd be pissed."

"Do you remember how angry they'd get when you called me Sable?"

Sable. Their secret code that the Winter Soldier programming wasn't in full force. Not that the handlers ever figured that out.

"I think they were more worried." James chuckled and Dakota laughed along.

"Yeah, I don't think pet names and the Winter Soldier mixed."

"Dakota," James paused to gently lay a hand on her shoulder. It was probably the tenderest thing he'd done since they were reunited. "Why are you asking this?"

Dakota gently picked up his hand in her own. She traced its shape before placing a kiss on each finger.

"We've done bad. We've had bad done to us. But we are not bad. Me. You. This," Dakota accentuated the last three words by aggressively pointing her finger first at her, then him, then squeezing his hand, "is not bad. _My choice_ to love you, is not bad. And it's not one I will ever regret, because it was _mine_. We were in a place were choices were currency and we didn't have any way to pay except in blood. So _my choices_ , should not be reduced by your feelings of wickedness. There are things I will never outlive, the choice to love you is not one of them."

Dakota was still gripping his hand and James didn't really mind. He understood the meaning behind her words and they'd spent too many nights side-by-side for him not to see the truth in them.

She wasn't telling him to get over his guilt, to let go of the anger and pain of what happened. She was just asking him to understand that where she stood was not where those things should. James was surprised to find how willing he was to consent.

They stood in silence for a while, standing and breathing and watching each other even when they knew the other was aware. Finally Dakota took a step back and let her hands fall to her sides.

"James Barnes. I won't ever grieve choosing you. I don't think I have ever loved another man and I know that I won't. Whatever happens now is just another drop of blood in my veins and my heart will keep pumping. But I will love you till my last breath is _ripped_ from my lungs and this earth is but dust. I have seen pain and I have sown it and this love, is worth every scream, every tear, every torment, every fight, every moment."

A pause.

A breath.

James moved forward a step and met her with a kiss full of heat and passion and something like love. Dakota pulled him close and James wrapped his arm around her, one hand reaching to cup her head and the other to keep her close. When they broke apart he rested his forehead on hers and they breathed.

"I'm glad you didn't stop running after me." James placed a kiss on Dakota's head and tilted so he could look at her face.

The ex-assassin was smiling with a feral glee he knew meant she was overjoyed.

"There's one thing you do need to know James."

He cocked an eyebrow and glanced down at her. "What?"

"Rooftops, are exceedingly too public."

The kiss she pulled him into left no doubt to what she meant.

* * *

Kota whispered softly to herself, listing off steps and ingredients as she stirred the stew on the stove. It was instinctual to grab herbs and gently strip and let them fall in. She was humming, a small smile on her face as she twirled to grab the plate of cut steak. This was peace.

A quiet rustle made her turn. James was exiting the bathroom, toweling off his hair while his eyes scanned the small apartment.

"Something wrong?" Kota gave the stew another stir before nodding in satisfaction. Once everything cooked it would be good.

"Where are my shirts?" James sent her a bemused look, the kind where his mouth barely twitched and his eyes only slightly lightened, but she saw the relaxed shoulders, the easy way he moved throughout the apartment without any of the tension of the past.

"Somewhere. But what if I like you better without a shirt on?" He looked up at her and this time the mirth turned to something more like a smirk.

She laughed at him and shook her head.

The playfulness was more evidence of the shift in James over the last few months. Before the rooftop James would never walk in front of her shirtless, let alone flirt with her. Now, she was surprised when James came from behind to nip at her neck.

"So this is okay?" James growled into her neck. She could feel the rumble in his chest and relaxed into him as he folded his arms more securely around her.

"I can live with it." When he chuckled behind her Kota felt a sense of apprehension fade. This was James improving.

Being at ease, the informality of their conversations, his humor. Maybe his fists still clenched and hatred burned in his eyes, but the deprivation was fading. The fact that he was no longer so wary of even brushing by her certainly helped. When he woke up at night with Russian curses or desperate pleas she could still him with a touch. Trace a hand along his arms and call him back with memories and reminders. He would stare at the far wall for some time, still and impassive. When he turned to her, whether anger or disgust filled his eyes, she would smile at him, show an acceptance and absolution that he hadn't felt for a long time. Then he would relax, let go of whatever it was that had haunted him that night and whether they went right back to bed, or stayed up for hours as he told her what he remembered and questioned its validity, Kota would make sure to whisper "мой солдат" quietly before going to bed. It wasn't to taunt or aggravate, but to promise. That as long as she was alive he would always be hers and she would always be his. No matter what, she would never leave him.

"We should go out," she murmured. "We're running out of plums."

"Plums can wait."

Kota raised an eyebrow at this and turned around. She rested her chin on his chest and looked straight into his eyes.

"Plums? Waiting? Why James I think something's wrong with your head."

His eyes grew distant for a second and Kota frowned. She waited until he spoke again.

"Don't call me James."

Kota smirked but nodded. "What should I call you then?"

He looked up for a second then back into her eyes.

"Bucky. Call me Bucky."

* * *

 **N/A: So this chapter went though some major revamps and clean-up. The next chapter might be a while since I'm watching, and pausing, and rewatching _Civil War_ , all so I can get dialogue, actions, scenery, etc. correct. It's a lot of work. But never fear, I think my infamous "week of stress/tears because _everything_ is due" is past. For November…Yeah, let's just say right now I really hate Anatomy  & Physiology…and Developmental Psych…and Calculus…but at least British History rocks!**

 **(1) From _What We Buried_ by Caitlyn Siehl**

* * *

Next Chapter: Capturing Rumlow takes a devastating turn. The Civil War Timeline begins


	6. People Help the People

**We've finally made it! The Civil War timeline starts now.**

* * *

Heat was not a witches best friend. In fact, it would more easily be called their mortal enemy.

Wren took another sip from her water bottle, her other hand holding her hair against the nape of her neck.

"Why did the crazy psycho have to pick a country without proper air conditioning to attack?" she complained.

" _Because he knew how much you hated it_ ," Sam's deadpan retort drifted through the comm.

Wren bit her lip to hold back a grin, her eyes scanning the plaza. "Damn crazies. Why can't they just let me be happy," she mourned dramatically.

Cap's voice floated in, " _Let's stay focused guys_."

"Roger Roger." Wren tried to make her voice sound as robotic as possible. Based on Widow's snort and Cap and Falcon's slight sigh, more of a repressed chuckle if she knew Sam, the reference had been recognized.

"I thought we left the inappropriate jokes behind when Stark left," Natasha commented.

"Pfft. Tony's jokes were inappropriate. Mine are the right touch of humor to not kill everyone because we're so stressed."

" _Alright, tell me what you see_." Cap's order effectively ended the playful banter.

Wanda responded within a few seconds. "Standard beat cops. Small station. Quiet street." Each sentence had a pause between it before she continued with her observations. "It's a good target."

" _There's an ATM on the south corner, which means?_ "

"Cameras," Rune broke in. She eyed the patio she was sitting at again, checking on the Witch and Widow's positions.

" _Both cross streets are one-way_."

Scarlet Witch took over. "So compromised escape routes."

" _Means our guy doesn't care about being seen. He isn't afraid to make a mess on the way out. You see that Range Rover half-way up the block?_ "

"Yeah, the red one? It's cute."

"It's also bulletproof," Widow interrupted, "which means private security, which means more guns, which means more headaches for somebody. Probably us."

"You guys know I can move things with my mind, right?"

" _We_ can move things," Rune teased.

"Looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature," Nat admonished

" _Anybody ever tell you you're a little paranoid?_ " Falcon's voice cut in.

"Not to my face. Why? Did you hear something?"

Wren grinned and Cap tried to refocus everyone's attention, "Eyes on target, folks. This is the best lead we've had on Rumlow for six months. I don't want to lose him."

Sam snorted, "If he sees us coming that won't be a problem. He kind of hates us."

"It's quite rude." Wren titled her head. "I wonder if anyone's tried to talk to him about his obvious psychoticness?" There was a beat of silence and she took the moment to send out a small wave of magic to search for Rumlow's signature. Cap broke her concentration, "S _am, see that garbage truck? Tag it_."

Wren could hear a sharp click over the comms as Falcon detached Redwing.

" _Give me X-ray_." Wren shared a glance with the Witch that made her grimace and her leg started to tap. " _That truck's loaded for max weight. And the driver's armed._ "

"It's a battering ram," Widow informed.

" _Go now_ ," Cap's voice was tense.

Wren frowned but put her hair down so she could screw the top back onto her bottle. She glanced around warily, unconsciously tugging at her brown gloves.

"What?" Wanda sounded as anxious as she felt.

" _He's not hitting the police_."

"Well that's fan-fucking-tastic." Wren groaned as she shot to her feet. Wanda took off toward the street, in the same direction of the truck, so that she could shoot out her hands and begin to fly. Rune nodded at Widow and the two began running in the direction of a street a few blocks over.

"Cut them off at the back?" Rune verified.

Widow stopped beside a motorcycle and quickly hot-wired it. "You guessed it." The two women swung onto the vehicle and took off in the same directions they could see Wanda zooming towards.

Cap's voice spoke up, heavy breaths breaking up his words. " _Body armor. AR-15s. I make seven hostiles._ "

Less than a minute, a few gunshots, then Falcon. " _I make five_."

The Witch's strained voice entered the mix, " _Sam_."

A short commotion was followed by the sound Wren knew was Sam flying into something, or rather, someone. " _Four. Rumlow's on the third flour._ "

" _Wanda, just like we practiced_."

" _What about the gas?_ "

" _Get it out_."

"I think we're missing everything. Why are we the ones left out of a team powwow?" Wren muttered playfully and just as she expected, someone answered.

" _You're the one who wanted to be more like Natasha_ ," Sam shot back.

"I think I made a rash decision."

Nat shook her head in front of her but before either of them could respond Cap cut in.

" _Rumlow has a biological weapon._ "

Wren pinched Nat's side and from the flick of the other woman's hand, her message had been understood.

The witch spoke up, "We're on it." Natasha turned the motorcycle and Rune tensed as they drove closer to Rumlow's soldiers. Nat braced and she knew that was her cue. She let go and jumped off the back of the motorcycle as Widow moved her legs, sliding the bike from underneath her and hitting one of the idiotic goons. Rune began to mumble, whispering as magic pooled to her hands with purple sparks.

One mercenary rushed at her, his gun momentarily aiming at the ground. She took her chance and sent magic rushing to her fist to strengthen her punch. The man crumpled only to be replaced by another who was already throwing a punch at her. Rune ducked and sent a punch to the man's side, following it with an uppercut. Natasha threw a Widow's bite at one soldier then shot Rune a glance.

"Get him," she growled as the man she just punched raised his gun at her. Widow avoided one mercenary then clambered up the vehicle to attack Rumlow. Rune chanted under her breath to focus her magic on creating a projection for half the soldiers to fight while she dispatched the others. She was finishing off the last guy when the cackle of electricity sounded behind her.

There was an angry, "I don't work like that no more."

Wren punched her last attacker in the head, sending him flying, and turned around in time to see Rumlow close the hatch on the AFV.

"Fire in the hole." His voice was too smug for Wren's liking. She rushed to the vehicle and pushing magic to her arms she used the added strength to pull the door off. Nat threw herself out the vehicle and called out, "Bomb!"

A force field shot out just in time to stop the explosion that rushed towards them.

They could hear a vehicle moving as it fired on the building.

"Rumlow," Rune snapped. "That guy is a douche-pants. You good Nat?"

The Black Widow nodded, holding her side as she gave a few deep breaths.

The two straightened when they heard what sounded like explosions and breaking glass followed by sharp grunts.

 _The hell?_ Rune shot the Widow a look that the other rolled her eyes at.

"Sam," Cap sounded winded and no doubt it was from him being tossed around like a piñata. Someone needed to talk to him about that. "He's in an AFV heading north."

"Let's go." Widow ran to her discarded motorcycle and quickly started driving after the vehicle. Rune began running after her; her arms were pumping as her breath left in savage gasps. As she got in sight of the market Falcon spoke.

"I've got four, they're splitting up."

Nat responded, "I got the two on the left."

"They ditched the gear. It's a shell game now. One of them has the payload."

Wren cursed and tore down a street, quickly meeting up with Wanda.

"Wren," the woman had to stop herself from jumping as Cap called her name. "Can you set up a mirage to slow them down?"

The young witch raised an eyebrow. "Not unless you want me to affect everyone. You know if I'm not close to someone or can't see them, my powers are too disruptive."

Cap sighed, "Right."

"He doesn't have it. I'm empty." Sam sounded edgy as he answered.

"Out of the way," Nat's breath was ragged and agitated; Wren could imagine her shoving people aside and flipping her way through the street.

"Let's go find Cap," Rune flicked her hand at Wanda and the two witches began navigating through the market.

"Payload secure." Nat was still breathless. "Thanks Sam."

"Don't thank me."

If Wren knew that smug voice, it meant Redwing had somehow been involved.

"I'm not thanking that thing."

"His name is Redwing."

Score one, Wren.

Her and Wanda were running and when she caught sight of Sam, she started to sprint faster.

"I'm still not thanking it."

"He's cute. Go ahead, pet him."

"No time for that!" As Rune raced past Sam, she shot him a grin.

She ducked and weaved through the streets until she caught sight of Cap. She started focusing on the words that were coming through her comms.

"Who's your buyer?" Wren heard a pause then Cap's voice came through the comm, this time unnerved and shaky. "What did you say?"

She didn't try to pick up on what Rumlow said. She pumped her legs and raced to where the two were facing off, Rumlow kneeling and Cap standing uncertainly over him.

"When you gotta go, you gotta go. And you're coming with me."

Rumlow popped the plug off a grenade and moved to let go with his hand.

Wanda quickly wrapped Rumlow in a barrier and Wren enveloped the people on the ground with a protective shield as she muttered in Old Norse. The young witch watched as Wanda tossed the killer into the air and released the bubble.

Only for the explosion to roar and explode on the building they were standing in front of.

The gathered team members looked up, horrified and shocked.

"Oh my.."

Wren gaped, her heart plummeting.

"Sam," Cap looked as lost as Wren felt. "We need Fire and Rescue on the south side of the building. We gotta get up there."

Wren grabbed Wanda's arm. "Come on," she urged. The other witch seemed frozen in shock, her hands covering her mouth. Wren started walking to the building, her grip on Scarlet Witch's sleeve tightening the closer they were to the foot of the building. There, she bit her lip and glanced up to where fires were still burning, crackling and souring the air with its smoky taste. The young witch took a deep breath then rushed up the stairs and into the building. Her mind tried to concentrate on grabbing the arms of people and gently leading them to the door; instead her thoughts were tumultuous and clouded by dread. When she reached a middle-aged man with a gash on his head she swallowed past the lump in her throat.

Focusing, she opened up the mental barrier in her mind to let her magic flood her. Channeling it, she whispered under her breath, pushing healing magic out with purple sparks. The man's eyes widened as she placed her hands on the cut. Within a few minutes the cut was gone as well as the man's minor brain contusions. Wren gave him a shaky smile. He eyed her then hurried out.

As she traveled through the building, stopping to heal the worst injuries she saw, most people glared daggers at her and not even a nod of gratitude was sent her way. She wasn't expecting any and Wren would by lying if she said the judgmental grumbles didn't feel deserved. She didn't know how long she continued like that. Healing and guiding, she made her way, not even noticing when she stumbled or swayed. The exhaustion that was steadily rising was only a whisper in the back of her mind. It wasn't until a hand reached out and grabbed her shoulder, steadying her, that she fully took in her surroundings.

"Let's go." Wren looked Falcon in the eyes, surprised by the compassion she found there. She nodded absently and let him guide her through the building with gentle nudges. Navigating the stairs sounded humorous for Falcon but Wren was rubbing her eyes, one loud yawn escaping her mouth. On the street she frowned as the shapes around her blurred. After taking a step forward and almost nose-diving she could feel someone all but lift her up and carry her. Eventually she stumbled again, this time followed by a motion she knew was her being picked up. She attempted to open her mouth to protest and found her mouth wasn't working. In fact, the only thing she seemed capable of doing was turning her head to rest on a metal shoulder. _Metal, must be Falcon_ , she thought.

She felt herself being laid down on a chair so she curled her legs closer to her. Any desire to move had left her. Soon she felt a warm blanket being draped over her. She hummed in contentment as she felt the heat wrap around her and fill her up, leaving nothing but peace.

* * *

Wren woke up completely and absolutely confused. She was in her bed, cocooned, in a mountain of blankets. The last time she awoke, it was with a gentle shake on board the quinjet headed to Lagos. Wanda had given her a bemused grin and told her Cap was about to brief them. So how did she end up back in her bed, feeling better than…

Her heart stilled.

Waking up and feeling like you could karate-chop concrete wasn't something people complained about. Wren most certainly wasn't since she'd been feeling like shit for the past two weeks. Damn magic headaches. So she wasn't going to think too deeply into the sudden turn in her physical state. At least until she spotted a familiar green and gold blanket that almost seemed to glow. The witch remembered her Mormor handing it to Steve on the day she left to start training with the Avengers. She had seen her mother and Mormor knitting it, infusing it with their magic. A blend of hearth and healing magic to boost and comfort whenever she felt worse than a chicken egg trampled by reindeer. Wren was privately pleased to have only used it twice; after an arduous training session and a bitter mission.

That meant if she was wrapped up in the blanket…

Lagos!

She froze as her memories flooded back.

The fighting, the explosion, fording through the building while healing anyone she could.

 _Mormor would call me foolish_ , she thought. _Foolish, but with good intentions._

Healing was the opposite of battle magic and therefore the hardest on her body and the most difficult for her to perform. If her mental calculations were even slightly correct, she had healed twenty plus people. For her, pushing herself and using all that healing magic would have nearly drained her.

 _Probably why I passed out._ She sighed. Wren gently turned, placing her feet on the floor. She felt shaky.

The witch moved to stand up when she noticed her clothes.

 _I was definitely not in pajamas when we left Lagos._

Somewhere between arriving back at the base and her being bundled in blankets someone had exchanged her suit for some shorts she'd made after she cut the legs off a pair of sweatpants and ironically, she was in a Captain America shirt. Wren had unabashedly worn it while the Avengers were living in the Tower and it had caused more than a few snorts and eye rolls. Steve happened to grin at it though, so Wren counted it as a win.

A faded blanket she bought at some side of the road store in Norway was laid on a bench at the foot of her bed. She pulled it over her shoulders, straightened up, then walked out of her room.

If she was expecting an ambush, she didn't get it. Reality was an empty hallway with the faint sound of talking coming from the right; the direction of the kitchen which probably meant someone was cooking. Whether it was a meal or a snack didn't matter to Wren.

Entering the kitchen, she was faintly surprised to see Sam at the stove, stirring something in a pan. If her nose was correct, it was fish.

"Just because I spent time in Norway doesn't make me a fish-lover." Wren shuffled into the room. Her declaration caused Sam, Nat, and Vision to turn to her; Vision and Nat nodded at her while Sam gave her a smile.

"But I happen to know you love this dish," Sam's grin deepened and he tilted the pan so that she could see the contents.

Wren's eyes widened. "Tørrfisk!" Half of her wanted to launch herself at Sam and wrap him in a massive bear-hug. The other half wanted to disappear back into her room.

She didn't deserve this kindness. Maybe she didn't know the exact destruction the explosion caused, but she remembered its effects well enough to know that she wasn't worthy an act of kindness such as someone making her favorite meal.

"Thanks," Wren deflated slightly, pulling the blanket tighter across her shoulders, "but I'm not that hungry right now." The witch walked around to the bar and sat down next to Nat.

"You sure?" Sam was giving her an incredulous look.

"Yeah." Wren tried to paste a smile on her face. It must not have been convincing because Sam snorted and gave her a plate anyway. She eyed the plate but she knew it was a losing battle. Even with the rapid recovery due to the blanket, that was only the magical part of her body. The rest of her, the side that needed more substantial sustenance to survive was making its needs known: she was sure her growling stomach was heard even from the edge of the compound.

Sam pushed a fork into her hand. "If you don't eat, I'll force-feed you." Wren glanced up at him, gave a sheepish look, then dug into the food.

"This…is…really…good," she managed to say in the breaks while she inhaled her food. It was true. Wren's grandmother was decidedly the winner for best tørrfisk and her mother called in a close second. But Sam's? She knew some restaurants in Norway who could probably take a few lessons from him. "Third best tørrfisk ever!" She declared. The witch was tempted to wipe the plate with her finger to get the juices but with Nat and Vision watching her she decided not to.

"Thanks, Sam." Wren smiled at him and slid off the stool to wipe her dish in the sink.

"Your welcome Wren." The tone in his voice made her look up and see the gathered Avengers eyeing her carefully.

"Where's Wanda?" she asked, trying to break the strain.

"Wanda is in her room watching the news," Vision stopped speaking and a frown formed. "I believe Tony Stark is approaching with someone." Before anyone could say anything the alien was out of the kitchen.

"Well, I'm going to see what that's about," Nat disappeared quietly, leaving no trace of her even being there.

"Guess it's just you and me. Want to make some cookies?" Sam's evasion tactics were brilliant and most people in Wren's shoes would go along. Free chance to not talk about her feelings? How absolutely worthless she felt and how all she wanted to do was curl up in a corner and cry over her thoughtlessness? Sign her up! But it wouldn't make anything go away. The people in Lagos would still be dead, and Wren and Wanda would still have a hand in it. The only thing different would be her denial of how much she caused it.

"How bad was it?"

Sam continued to pull out ingredients. Cocoa powder, sugar, milk, butter, oats. Wren figured out what he wanted to make even before he grabbed the peanut butter and aluminum foil. She grabbed two pots and turned on the stove.

While the butter melted Sam turned to her and ran a hand over his face.

"Not good Wren." He shook his head. "The people in that building were Wakandan missionaries. There's a video of you healing people circling around so that's managed to take some of the heat off but still…there's a lot of people who don't like that you and Wanda have magic. They want you to "pay" for what you did. Steve put our PR on it but, 11 people were killed. Everyone's looking for someone to blame."

Wren exhaled a shaky breath.

A few years ago she would have watched something like this on the news and been horrified at what happened. Might have shrugged it off, though as equally likely she would have advocated for justice. Reparations from the freaks for their intolerable crimes.

She swallowed thickly and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Focusing on adding the next ingredients wasn't a diversion tactic. No, she didn't need to ignore that gnawing voice whispering it's deception in the back of her mind. That couldn't be right.

"Blaming yourself isn't going to help anyone."

It was just Wren's luck that her best friend on the team was the expert on PTSD and any manner of psychological issues. She knew that he was giving her that intense look that held both concern and empathy. But she didn't want that. Not when those deaths were partially on her no matter what anyone tried to convince her. She helped Wanda to throw Rumlow in the air. She created the shield that protected the people on the ground, but didn't cover the people in the building. Maybe she saved some lives, but she took some as well.

"No it won't, but it does make me feel better."

The glare Sam sent her way normally made her flash a sheepish grin, or an innocent smile. Today, Wren simply blinked at him and hoped the snarky tone and nonchalant smirk were boiled down to stress and exhaustion. She really didn't want another sit down where she talked about how every time she screwed up the only thing she could think about was the way people treated anything to do with Loki.

"Everyone makes mistakes Wren. You can't let yourself be defined by them."

It was easier said than done but Wren trusted Sam enough to know he meant what he said.

They finished making the cookies in near silence, only speaking to ask the other to pass them something. They were washing the last of the dishes when Vision walked in again.

Wren took one glance at his face and her heart plummeted and a sick feeling settled in her stomach.

"The Secretary of State is here. Steve wants us in the conference room."

Wren and Sam looked at each other and the sick feeling worsened.

* * *

Coming up next: Bucky and Dakota are discovered.


	7. AUTHOR'S NOTE

I am very sorry to announce that Unmasked is being discontinued. Please don't mistake this for abandoned, since I have no intention of leaving my Survivor!Verse alone. It's just that as I continue writing this story, I am unsatisfied. I do not feel as if I am producing my best work and while they have not abandoned it, I'm sad to say most my drunnies have fled, leaving me with little inspiration. I have tried to continue writing chapters and while I am already done with a few, and have dabbled with some future chapters, none of it is really striking me. I've been toying with some one-shots that I'm feeling more confident about, so I have a feeling that's what might happen. I might just do some general one-shots and then have Survivor!Verse one-shots, of just focus on Survivor!Verse, I don't know. I do deeply apologize and am sorry to all those who were anxiously awaiting the next installment. I'm considering doing an abstract piece on Kota and Bucky's relationship however, so hopefully that might come out soon. If there was something you wanted to see, now's a good time for requests.

Regretfully sorry,

~Dumort


End file.
